Of Hypocrites and Insults
by tinylexie
Summary: Narcissa's thoughts during her encounter with Harry in Half-Blood Prince.


**Author's Note****: All the dialogue in this fic comes from **_**Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince**_**, Chapter 6, "Draco's Detour."**

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><p>Narcissa strolled out from behind the clothes rack in Madam Malkin's. She noticed that the Potter boy and one of those Weasley boys were pointing their wands at her son.<p>

What gave Potter that right? Who did he think he was? How dare he just stand there, acting as if he was better than Draco, better than any of the Malfoys.

And to think, most people would not have any problems with Potter threatening Draco because those foolish people saw Potter as the "good guy" and Draco and his parents as the "bad guys."

Well, what kind of "good guy" hexed and jinxed Draco and then just left him there for Narcissa to find, especially after she had just lost her husband to Azkaban? Potter didn't even know her, yet he had not had any problems with hurting her son, all the while knowing that she would eventually see what had been done to her precious son.

Narcissa had not even recognized Draco at first when she had finally found him. It had taken her a few moments to recognize her own son!

Just because Potter had lost his mother did not give him the right to cause another mother pain. But to Potter, that didn't matter. To Potter, Narcissa was some "evil mommy." Who cared if her feelings got hurt? Who cared if she felt pain? Apparently, only Potter's feelings and pain mattered.

And Draco had told her that Potter had not been alone. Oh, no, the hexes and the jinxes had also came from some of Potter's friends. It had been a gang attack. So much for that whole Gryffindor courage. Yet, Potter still insisted on acting as if he was the one in the right.

"'Put those away,'" she said to Potter and the Weasley boy, referring to the wands that they were currently pointing at Draco. "'If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.'"

"'Really?'" the Potter boy replied in a haughty voice. "'Going to get a few Death Eater pals to us in, are you?'"

The audacity of the boy. He didn't even know her. Yet, he had no problem with judging her just because Lucius was her husband and Draco her son.

And to think, Potter was best friends with a Mudblood. Didn't he hate it when people judged her because of her blood? Yet here he was, judging her based on her family ties, not on who she was as an individual.

Narcissa, however, did not try to explain herself. She knew that her words would be wasted on such a hypocritical, stupid boy, a boy who had allowed himself to be deluded into thinking that he could say and do whatever he wanted with any consequences.

"'I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter,'" Narcissa spoke unpleasantly. "'But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you.'"

The Potter boy looked around the shop mockingly. "'Wow…look at that…he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!'"

Narcissa really wanted to get angry at those words. But a part of her could not help but smile at the thought of what her husband's reaction would have been to Potter's taunt. Was "loser of a husband" really the best that Potter could come up with? If only Lucius was here. He would have shown Potter how to taunt properly.

Both Lucius and Narcissa knew how much words could hurt. They had both learned at young ages that the world did not care about them. They were, after all, wealthy, entitled Purebloods, not some "poor" and "helpless" Muggles.

And as soon as Lucius and Narcissa had learned that they were alone in the world, they had quickly learned how to defend themselves. They had learned how to shut off their emotions. They had learned that one of the best ways of dealing with the pain that others gave you was to hurt those people even more than they had hurt you.

There was no one better at wounding an opponent with words than a Pureblood.

As soon as Narcissa got over Potter's pathetic excuse of an insult, her thoughts turned to anger. How dare Potter mock her husband. How dare Potter call her Lucius a "loser." If Potter had known anything about her husband, he would have known that Lucius was anything but a loser.

But Potter had no idea of just how devoted Lucius was to his family. The idea that Lucius loved his wife and son and that he would do anything for them would be beyond Potter's comprehension.

Potter thought that he was the only one capable of saving the day. He would never be able to understand how many times Lucius had saved both Narcissa and Draco. Not that Potter would care about any of that even if he was able to understand it. He didn't care about the pain suffered by Death Eaters and their families because Death Eaters were "evil."

And Potter had no idea of how much Lucius had suffered in life. Potter thought that he had lived the most tragic life possible. Well, Lucius could have told Potter some stories about what really made a life a tragic one. But that wouldn't matter to poor, suffering Potter. What a shame that everyone else lived such charmed, wonderful lives. What a pity that Potter could not have lived such a life himself.

Narcissa, however, did not show Potter her anger. She had been better trained than that. She had been taught better than that. No, she would just wound Potter where she knew it would do the most damage. She would do her Lucius proud.

Narcissa restrained Draco, who was attempting to make his way over to Potter.

"'It's all right, Draco,'" Narcissa said. "'I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.'"

Now that was how you wounded someone with words.

Potter raised up his wand. Well, if the boy didn't know how to handle an insult, then he shouldn't be giving any of his own. How many insults had both her and Lucius heard in their lifetimes? Yet, they had never shown how affected they were by those insults. Instead, they had insulted back, with words they had known would wound deeply.

Truly, there was no one better at wounding an opponent with words than a Pureblood.


End file.
